


Clothes Make the Man

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boxers, F/M, Minor Monty Green/Nathan Miller, Minor Raven Reyes/Gina Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22422127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy's really glad to hear Clarke dumped Finn, obviously. He's just not expecting the reason she dumped him to be so distracting.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 39
Kudos: 1178





	Clothes Make the Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all I'm like 95% done with Bellarke but sometimes inspiration will strike! In this case, it was a reddit relationships post about a bi girl who dumped her ex because he thought her wearing boxers to sleep was gay. Obviously, she is a champ, and my personal hero, but it also sounded like the prelude to a Bellarke fic because of who I am as a person. Also, Brit pointed out how good Clarke would look in boxers and she was not wrong.

"So, I broke up with Finn."

It's the news Bellamy has been waiting for for months, basically since Clarke introduced him to Finn. Since she started dating him, really, but it wasn't personal until Bellamy met the guy, and he tries to pretend that he doesn't hate Clarke dating in general. Once he's met her significant others, he can come up with specific reasons she should dump them.

Sometimes, it's hard, but Finn made it easy. The guy was slick and charming and Bellamy could sort of see the appeal, but he didn't appreciate Clarke, didn't show any interest in her interests, and didn't seem to want to fit into her life.

"I know, I know," she adds, before he's had a chance to respond. "You told me so."

"I didn't."

"But you were thinking it."

"It's your life," he says. "If you want to date shitty people, that's your business. But I'm glad you don't want to date him, yeah. What did it?"

She huffs. "It was so stupid! Like--what's wrong with straight guys?"

"Everything. Did he want to have a threesome?"

"Actually no. But good guess." She sips her beer, and he mirrors the movement. "He thought my pajamas weren't sexy enough."

Bellamy chokes, which probably wasn't her intention when she took a drink, but still somehow feels orchestrated. " _What_."

"You know women have to be hot at all times or their boyfriends will literally die."

"Do you wear a pajama set? Like one of those button-up ones that looks like a full outfit? A sack? Is he just pissed you don't sleep in a silk negligee?" He pauses. "Or do you and he just doesn't think that's hot?"

That makes her smile, like he hoped it would. In a fair world, Clarke would be thrilled she dumped an asshole who didn't appreciate her, but breakups are rarely as clean and satisfying as they should be. "Boxers," she says.

It takes him a second to realize she's answering his question. "Boxers?"

"I usually wear boxers and tank tops to bed. It's comfortable. Apparently me wearing the same stuff to bed he did felt gay to him, so--internalized homophobia and shitty controlling behavior. One would be enough for me to dump him, but both? I called him a Lyft and told him to go home."

"Good for you." He shakes his head. "Jesus. He's even stupider than I thought."

Clarke sits up straighter, a smile taking over her face. "This is my favorite part. Tell me how much he sucked. I know you've got a list of bullet points on your phone."

"I keep them longhand. Tell me what you liked about him first."

"Why?"

"So I know how much you're hurting and how brutal to be."

The first time they did this, after Lexa, Bellamy had thought he'd ruined the friendship forever. He hadn't figured out how to be her friend and be in love with her, and he'd been overly harsh, mistaking his own need for catharsis with what Clarke wanted out of the exercise. Nowadays, he's better at it, but he's having trouble getting a read on her emotional state this time.

"I wasn't very attached," she says, but she's not meeting his eyes. "He asked me out, and I figured I could give it a try. He was cute and it was kind of exciting? I'm so used to knowing I shouldn't hit on service professionals that it was nice when the cute barista asked me out. But I didn't think we were going to get married or anything."

"Well, I thought he was boring and kind of an asshole."

"You can do better."

"Total hipster. He was always showing off all the obscure bands he knew."

"All bands are obscure to you," she says, laughing. "You're so out of touch."

"Yeah, but I asked Miller, and he hadn't heard of them either."

"Okay, he was kind of a hipster."

"He didn't appreciate you. He thought you were hot and he was smug you were going out with him, but he was getting all the benefits. I assume," he adds. "I figured you were going to dump him sooner or later."

"I probably would have. I'm just--" Her face screws up, like the admission is painful. "I don't want to be one of those _I hate being single_ people, but I'm getting tired of it."

"I get that, but--dating people just to date them is worse than being alone."

"I'm hoping there's a better, third option."

This is how it always is when Clarke breaks up with someone. She'll say something vague about wanting someone better and all he wants to do is tell her how he feels, that _he'd_ be good for her, but it feels wrong to do when she's just broken up with someone. He doesn't want to be a rebound, doesn't want to take advantage of her in a vulnerable state.

It's always so easy to come up with excuses to not say something.

"There is," he says. "Just have to be patient."

"Is that what you're doing?" she asks, her smile teasing. "Waiting for the third option?"

He can't look at her. "Yeah, that's me."

*

"Clarke dumped Finn."

Miller doesn't look particularly impressed. "I didn't know she was still dating him. Good for her, even I didn't like that dude."

"Yeah, your support on that one meant the world to me."

"Guessing you didn't take the opportunity to tell her you were into her."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you that post-breakup isn't a good time to ask someone out."

"As many times as Clarke breaks up with someone, I'm guessing."

It's been a safe bet so far, as Miller knows. "Well, it's still true."

"Uh huh. Why'd she dump him? Figured out he was a tool?"

"He was too much of a tool to ignore, yeah. He said her pajamas weren't hot enough."

"Some assholes think they get to be so picky. But there's your opening: I bet you look hot in all your pajamas. It's so easy." 

It's easy and obvious too, but Bellamy actually had managed to not think about the specifics of Clarke's wardrobe. The whole thing was obviously bullshit, but Bellamy had no real horse in the pajama race; he's never dated anyone whose sleepwear he had a strong opinion on, and it wasn't as if he was going to ask Clarke to show off her ensemble so he could judge if Finn was right. Finn was wrong. Finn would have been wrong if Clarke slept in a burlap sack and crocs.

But Clarke sleeps in a tank top and boxers, and that's very different. As Miller said, he'd put money on Clarke looking hot in anything, but that's him. He doesn't think it's possible for her to look anything less than gorgeous.

But sometimes she steps it up, and now he's thinking about it, her ready for bed and casual in a tank top and flannel boxers and--

"Fuck, I'm going to hell," he mutters. Friends don't get turned on thinking about the thing that caused their friend's breakup. That's so bad.

"Wow, you made a connection I didn't make there, huh?"

He scrubs his face. "Shut up."

"How long does the breakup rule last? I think you should tell her you think her pajamas are hot as soon as possible. Mostly so that you stop telling me."

"Hey, I had your back in the Monty thing."

"And you told me to make a fucking move too."

"I remember being a little nicer."

Miller shrugs. "I can live with not being as nice as you. Especially since I'm getting laid now and you're not."

Clarke stretched out on a bed, reading, legs bare and long under the boxers, smiling at him as he comes in. That's a thought he's had, and one he now has to live with. Finn Collins must be the dumbest asshole on the planet, if he _dumped Clarke_ when he saw that. Bellamy would have proposed on the spot.

"You're a terrible friend," he tells Miller, and stalks off to splash cold water on his face.

*

Bellamy would like to forget about the whole thing, but the problem with Clarke's boxers is that his knowledge of their existence is inescapably tied to her breaking up with Finn, and every time Finn comes up, Bellamy remembers that he thought Clarke's sleeping boxers weren't hot enough, and then Bellamy starts thinking about what the boxers might look like and what Clarke might look like in them, and he ends up distracted and stupidly turned on for the next few minutes. Which wasn't exactly new--Clarke has made offhand remarks that left him reeling in the past and will doubtless do so again--but it's relentless now, and no matter how he tried, he can't shake it.

Which is how, tipsy and frustrated with his mind stuck in a rut, Bellamy finds himself asking, "Can I see the boxers?" Even though he told himself he wouldn't. Even though it's the stupidest idea in the world.

Clarke is stretched out on the couch, doing something on her iPad, but the question makes her look up with a quizzical frown. "The ones I sleep in?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because Finn's such a fucking idiot. Who'd get mad about what someone wears to sleep? I need to see them so I can really--" He gestures vaguely, like maybe Clarke will come up with a good reason for this while he's flailing. "Appreciate how dumb he is."

"What if the boxers really are ugly?"

"Then he's still an idiot. It's not like you were dressing up to seduce him. You were _sleeping_."

"So you're not going to say he's right no matter what?" He doesn't bother dignify that with a response, just gives her a look, and she smiles. "Okay, yeah, you'd never say that. Do you want to see the whole look?"

"Might as well, yeah."

Clarke stands and stretches, which is already unfair. "I wanted to get out of these jeans anyway."

He opens his mouth to protest, to tell her he just wanted to _see_ the boxers, not see her wearing them, but the words die in his throat. He flops back against his chair, staring up at the ceiling. He's done stupider things in his life, but this one feels like the most avoidable and self-inflicted fuck-up. There were so many chances for him to not get into this situation, starting with just not asking to see the boxers in the first place, and he's blasted past every one.

At least he'll find out if his fantasies were accurate.

"Don't laugh," she tells him, and he sits up to get a good look at her.

The first thing he notices is that she hasn't taken off her bra; the strap is falling down her shoulder a little, off to the side of the ribbed white tank top.

The second thing he notices is that the tank top is just thin enough that he can see the black polka-dots on her bra through it, which means that if she took it off, he'd probably be able to see through to much more interesting things. Which is not a detail his brain needed to add to his fantasy.

Finally, he lets his gaze drop to the boxers. They're nothing very remarkable, the simple plaid flannel style he favored in high school, before he switched to boxer-briefs, a little baggy and decidedly masculine, but in the way he likes, like women in suits. 

She'd look good in lingerie too, in silk or satin, but she'd look good in anything. She looks comfortable in this, happy. Everything else is a bonus.

"Jesus, he's an idiot," he breathes. Imagine having Clarke and losing her over _shorts_.

Clarke laughs and flops back down on the couch, almost close enough to touch. The boxers ride up a little when she sits, exposing even more leg. For the first time in his life, Bellamy wishes he knew something about baseball, just so he could think about baseball.

"I kind of get it. Like, he's wrong and fuck him, but maybe he thought we were still at the point where I should be putting some effort in."

"It's not like you wore board shorts on a date. Going to sleep isn't a formal occasion."

"Yeah, I know. I don't know why I'm trying so hard to see his side of it. I just want to make sure this isn't normal. I feel like all my breakups are for the stupidest reasons? But it's always just--the last straw."

"He wasn't that great, you don't need to try to talk yourself around."

"No." She draws her knees up to her chest, rests her cheek against them and smiles at him. "So, you think he was wrong?"

"No one's ever been more wrong."

"What would you do if your girlfriend wore this to sleep?"

"Jump you."

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, the color drains from his face. It's the honest answer, but not the smart one, not what he meant to say.

"I mean--" he starts, just as Clarke starts laughing, and she realizes he's not joking a second before he realizes she thought he was.

"You mean?" she prompts.

He clears his throat, wets his lips, runs out of stall tactics. "I'm pretty sure we've talked about how much we like girls in menswear."

"It's not menswear, it's boxers."

He shrugs one shoulder. "You'd look good in a suit too."

"Thanks." She wets her lips, watches him for a second that seems to stretch, and then she picks up her iPad again. "You should put on some Netflix or something," she says. "You're sticking around for a while, right?"

Miller would tell him this was it, the time to make his move. And he would probably be right.

But he finds the remote and turns on the TV. "Yeah, I'm not doing anything else tonight."

*

Bellamy and Clarke met when they were in undergrad together; Bellamy was a senior and Clarke was a sophomore, and they lived in the same building that year. He graduated, but stayed in town, and if he hadn't been dating Gina when Clarke finished school, they probably would have moved in together then. Instead, the timing never quite made sense, their leases were never up at the same time, and they never ended up living together. Given how Bellamy's feelings have evolved, it's probably for the best, but it means that, despite their closeness and intimacy, they've never really cohabitated, and there are certain things they haven't done.

Up until now, that had included pajamas, but apparently it was just a weird politeness thing, because once Bellamy has seen Clarke in her sleepwear once, that's it. The next time he comes over to hang out, Clarke opens the door in a gray tank and blue flannel boxers, with a smile like this is normal.

"Hey. Pizza's on the way."

His tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Cool. Thanks."

It makes sense, he reminds himself. He wears pajamas around the apartment all the time, and if there was some societal barrier that kept Clarke from doing it in front of him, they broke it down, and now she doesn't see any reason to put it back up. When it's chillier, she'll sometimes put a button-down on over the tank--which absolutely does not improve Bellamy's mental state--but other than that, it's always the same, when it's just the two of them: tank, boxers, and a warm smile.

"She's going to kill me," he groans.

Gina and Raven exchange a look, and then Raven asks, "So when you look up dumbass in the dictionary, is there a picture of you?"

One day, he will have a friendship that doesn't revolve around his friends dunking on him, but he's not sure when. Getting dunked on is his love language. "Did they add dumbass to the dictionary?"

"Just for you. Seriously," she adds, "does Clarke have to write _fuck me_ on her tank top?"

"Or on the ass of the boxers," says Gina. "Maybe both, to get through to you. Sorry, but come on, Bell. This is the least subtle thing I've ever heard."

"But--" he starts, and stops himself. They're not lying to him, they just have a different perspective. He's outnumbered. "Here's what I was thinking," he says instead, drumming his fingers on the table. "She says she's comfortable like this, so she wants to wear it. She and her ex broke up because she was dressing like this, so it's probably not--"

"Forget her ex, _you_ told her you think it's hot," Raven snaps. "Jesus, seriously, Bellamy. "If someone tells me they think my shirt looks hot and I want to sleep with them, I'll wear that shirt every time I see them."

"I'm on the record with you and Clarke," Gina adds. The _you're in love with your best friend_ part of their breakup conversation had definitely been rough on him, but she wasn't wrong. She's never been wrong. "But even for you two, this is ridiculous."

"So what, you think I should just slam her against a wall and kiss her? Just because she's wearing her pajamas?"

Gina pats his shoulder. "And because you've been wanting to do it for like ten years, but sure, blame the pajamas."

"And I'm not saying you shouldn't shove her against a wall, but you could just ask her out too. You've got options. But I'd bet you anything that the message she's sending isn't _I feel comfortable around you_."

"Fifty bucks," he says.

"What?"

"I want to bet fifty bucks. Then if she turns me down, I get fifty bucks."

"Deal. If I'm wrong, I'll owe you anyway."

He closes his eyes, trying to wrap his brain around _action_ , real action. Not just pining, not just thinking he should say something, but actually doing it.

"Yeah," he says. "You definitely will."

*

In the end, he figures this is Clarke, and they're friends, and the worst thing he could do it get in his head. Which is a problem since he's basically always in his head, but he can minimize it. He knows how to talk to Clarke, and even if this is the most awkward conversation in the world, they need to have it.

So he gets a beer in him and waits until they're both stretched out on Clarke's couch, Clarke in her tank and boxers, before he nudges her leg with his. "What's with the pajamas?"

"What about them?"

"I haven't seen you wearing pants for a month."

"Pants are overrated."

"Clarke."

"What?"

He swallows hard, looks straight ahead. "Raven thinks you're trying to seduce me."

"I thought we agreed that this wasn't a sexy look."

"Finn said it wasn't. I said I'd jump you."

"But you haven't."

He lets himself turn to look at her, finds she's looking down at her lap. Even when he thought Raven might be right about the Clarke thing, it hadn't occurred to him that if she was, Clarke would have been trying to flirt with him for a month with no response, no encouragement, nothing.

"Fuck," he mutters. "I really am a dumbass."

And then he kisses her.

Clarke lets out a soft noise, half a laugh that dies as she realizes what's happening and she starts to respond, arms wrapping around him tugging him close. It's immediate and sure, her response, her mouth opening for him and her hands sliding up under his shirt like she dreams about touching his back.

"Sorry," he says, nudging his nose against her neck. "I thought--I just didn't think you were interested."

"I didn't think _you_ were interested," she shoots back, but it's teasing.

"I wasn't dating other people."

"You weren't dating me either."

He slides his hand up her leg, starting at the knee and trailing up her thigh, under the hem of the boxers. "I did say I was a dumbass."

"I could have gone with something a little more proactive than wearing my pajamas in your general direction," she grants, and he grins, leaning down for another kiss that turns into two or three before he manages to pull away.

"You were killing me, if that helps. Jesus, Clarke, you don't have to look hot for anyone you're dating, but that outfit is unreal."

"I think you have a very specific fetish."

"Apparently." He kisses her jaw, her neck, the smooth skin of her bare shoulder. "You look good in boxers."

"I bet I look even better out of them."

He pulls back to look at her, letting his eyes trail up and down her body like he's been avoiding for the last few weeks. Her tanktop today is white again, flimsy, and her bra is a pale blue that tints the cloth. The boxers are what he thinks of as her favorite pair, red plaid that he now knows feels as soft as it looks.

"Not to get too specific about my fetish, but I don't want them off yet."

Clarke squirms a little under his scrutiny. "But we're having sex, right? This isn't you wanting to wait because of romance or something."

"Sex can be romantic." He gives her a smile. "I'm definitely in love with you. So everything is romantic."

"Okay, yeah, me too. But I've been hoping I'm going to get laid every time you've come over since I showed you the boxers, so--"

"Just since then?"

It shouldn't be a bigger deal than saying he loves her, but it feels huge. It's been such a long time for him, and even though he trusts she wants this, he doesn't know how long it's been for her, if this is just--

"Do you remember your graduation party?"

It's not the response he was expecting. "Yeah. Why?"

"Remember how I stayed late to help you clean up and you made me take your bed when I slept over even though I told you fifty times we could share?"

"Yeah."

"I wanted to seduce you, but you were too much of a gentleman." Her smile is a little sad. "I kept telling myself I should give up, date other people, that you weren't into me, but--"

This kiss is longer than the last ones, slower, one to savor. He settles in like he's going to stay, and Clarke shifts so she's flat on her back on the couch, so there's room for him to stretch out on top of her, to press her down and deepen the kiss. It may have taken them years, but they're on the same page now. They might as well enjoy it.

"Okay, so we're both dumbasses," he says. "Let's get laid."

"There's that romance," she teases, tugging on the hem of his shirt. "Can you take this off? I don't have to be, but I like seeing your pecs."

He tugs the shirt off and casts it aside, hesitates before he slides off her. "This good, or naked?"

Clarke bites her lip, watching him with dark eyes. "Naked works."

"Take off your bra."

"Nothing else?"

"Not yet."

"You first."

There's always a little awkwardness getting undressed in front of someone for the first time, but at least he's got years of lust and anticipation on his side. To say nothing of how much he wants to get Clarke's bra off.

"You don't want me to keep my boxers?" he teases, once the jeans are off. "They're not a thing for you?"

"Not as much as your dick is."

It's hard to argue with that. He slides the underwear off too, lets her look for a long moment, until he feels too awkward. He's an attractive guy and he's never gotten any complaints about his attributes or performance, but it's still weird to be standing naked in Clarke's living room.

"Bra," he says, and she unclasps it and tugs it off under the tank top without taking anything else off. As expected, he can see her breasts through the thin fabric of her top, the soft pink of her areola and the hardening peaks of her nipples, but since she can see his dick responding as he watches her, it's probably fair.

"Nothing else?"

"Is that okay?"

"As long as you start doing something," she says, stretching out so the tank top pulls up a little, showing off a perfect strip of smooth skin over the band of her boxers.

"I've got some ideas."

He crowds on top of her again, kissing her hot and open-mouthed, the reckless desire finally starting to take over with logistics out of the way. Clarke responds eagerly, one hand tangling in his hair, one leg wrapping over his, pulling him in so she can rub up against his thigh.

He really might have a fetish, because as much as he wants to feel her, having the fabric between them really is doing it for him. At least for now. He can get her naked later. They've got all night.

"Anything you're not into I should know about?" 

"Not off the top of my head."

He flashes her a grin. "Anything you _are_ into?"

"Your hands. I've thought about your fingers inside me so many times."

His hips push against her leg without any input from his brain. While he doesn't exactly have a mental checklist of what he'd like to do to Clarke, he _has_ thought about it a lot. And he's had that fantasy more than once. "Good, that's what I was thinking too."

He slides down, tracing his mouth from her neck to her chest, tracing her nipple with his tongue through the tank top. Clarke squirms under him, her laugh turning breathless in seconds as he keeps at it, working until it's fully hard and Clarke is moaning.

Only then does he let his hand slide into the slit of her boxers, past the fabric and down. Part of him wants to keep going, to slide inside and give her what she wants right away, but he makes himself wait, focusing first on her clit. She pushes back against him, already hot and ready for him, and the only surprise is when she tugs him away from her chest, pulling him up to her mouth again, kissing him wet and open-mouthed and sloppy and needy.

It's hard to argue with that.

He can tell she's about to come when she breaks the kiss, her breath coming fast and high as her hips jerk, and he presses his mouth against her neck, her shoulder, peppering kisses on her skin until the orgasm shakes through her, leaving her breathless.

He nuzzles under her ear, letting his fingers inch down, getting his first feel of the wet heat between her legs. It's almost torture to not press in, to not yank her boxers off and push inside her, but it's the best kind. And it's almost as good feeling her on his fingers, teasing both of them as he refuses to take that last step, to give her what she really wants.

"Bell, please," she gasps, desperate, and he grins, kisses her.

"I thought you'd never ask."

They both moan as he slides two fingers inside her. He hasn't done this for a while and somehow it feels even better than he remembered. The romantic part of him wants to say it's because it's Clarke, but realistically, this part always feels good, all that tight, wet heat pressing in on him, the knowledge of how good it's going to feel when he's inside her. 

It probably will be better with Clarke, of course. Romance isn't everything, but it doesn't hurt.

He keeps his pace slow as he fucks her with his fingers, drawing out her second orgasm. She's whimpering, eyes closed and head thrown back, too distracted to kiss him, so he goes back to her chest, shoving her tank top up so he can suck on her bare skin.

When she comes, he doesn't relent, not until she actually tugs on his arm, laughing. "You need to fuck me. Like, yesterday."

"Do you have condoms?"

"In the bathroom. Bottom drawer of the cabinet. I'll meet you in the bedroom?"

There's no logical reason for his heart to swoop at that; they're already having sex. But he's going to sleep in her bed, too. He's going to fuck her into the mattress and wake up next to her and his life is awesome.

He presses a quick kiss to her lips. "Deal."

Once he's found the condom, he heads to the bedroom. He's expecting to find her naked in there, stretched out on the bed and waiting for him, but although she lost the tank top, she's still wearing the boxers. Of course she is.

"I love you," he says, and she grins.

"I love you too. Get over here."

*

Bellamy had no specific plans to rub his new relationship in Finn's face, in large part because he didn't think he'd ever see Finn again and had pretty much forgotten he existed. Once everyone knows Bellamy and Clarke are together, Finn falls out of the conversation, and Bellamy's primary association with Clarke's boxers is Clarke, not Finn's stupidity. 

Which means he also forgot that Finn and Clarke met at a coffee shop near Clarke's place, that Finn worked there, and that if he went to pick up coffee while Clarke slept in one morning, he might run into him.

For a second, he feels awkward, like he's done something wrong, but the discomfort is replaced almost immediately by smug anticipation. He's not proud, but Finn's the one who fucked up. Bellamy wouldn't be reaping the benefits of the breakup if Finn had just appreciated how hot Clarke's boxers were. From one perspective, he owes Finn.

But that's not the perspective Bellamy's going to take. Finn's an idiot, and he should know that.

"Hey," he says, giving Finn a wave. "Morning."

"Morning. Visiting Clarke?"

"Sleeping over." He lets his grin break out, huge as it always is when he's telling people about himself and Clarke. "Honestly? I can't thank you enough. I don't know if I ever would have figured out how to ask her out if you didn't give me the perfect opening."

Finn's jaw drops, but he recovers fast. "What, did you tell her you like sloppy seconds?"

"Girls in boxers." He pats Finn's shoulder. "Honestly, you don't know what you're missing."


End file.
